Corruptive Tendencies
by shadowstar2567
Summary: The Ink Demon has lived in solitude for countless years. Then, a young girl is cast into his world, and he is reminded that there are other feelings than rage and hatred and the lust for revenge. There is friendship and love, and slowly he begins to return to himself. But will she be enough to save him, or will his evil tendencies corrupt him entirely?
1. Chapter 1

1: Entering the Inky Abyss

Cold, wooden floor scraped the soles of her bare feet. Toes curled as they took in the rough surface of the floor beneath, then legs moved forward as she continued on, feeling around her carefully to ascertain that she bumped into nothing.

Why was she here in this…what had they called it, an inky studio? Yes, that must be it, for she could feel something cool and liquidy pass through her fingers sometimes when her hands grabbed onto a wall to steady herself or better scope her surroundings, or it seeped between her toes when she accidentally stepped into a puddle. Sometimes, she drifted underneath something that went _drip, drip, drip_ onto her. More ink, she assumed, collecting somewhere on the ceiling (who knows how it had gotten there) and falling in slow steady drips onto the floor, and her head, whenever she passed into their path.

If only she possessed the ability of sight. It would be so much easier to navigate this labyrinth of inky decay. But it was not to be. That was why she had been abandoned here, was it not? To rot and decay as its ink had? As its inhabitants once had?

Though she could not see, her hearing more than made up for it. Being blind, all her other senses were enhanced, her hearing most of all. She had heard the stories of the old animation studio that had broken down all those decades ago, how all the inhabitants had mysteriously disappeared, how few dared venture near the studio in fear of catching the attention of something monstrous inside…though that last part was just the superstitious aura that carried around any place that looked mysterious and foreboding. In any case, many people believed the abandoned studio was haunted, and that included her parents, so why had they been discussing it just earlier that day?

She knew she was useless. Her parents never failed to remind her of that fact. It all stemmed from her being born blind. The woman who had helped deliver her said to her mother, "She may not be able to see, but look at her. 'Tis a lovely girl, that is."

But the mother had looked upon the babe with scorn, saying when the nurse was not near, "Finally, after all these years of hoping and praying for the perfect little girl, we get _this_ defective runt."

Alice couldn't remember this of course, but her mother told her this story often, to remind her of her wrongness, her defective nature. She should never have been born, Alice was told, and she believed this. She was only six: of course she would believe this. And she had lived like this all her life.

She had never gone outside. Her parents never let her out of the house. She was punished often, and mostly she couldn't remember why she was being punished. But the reason for her punishments was obvious. Her parents hated her for her blindness, for being so needy and for being unable to provide for herself. They fed her little and bathed her less, so that when she sat in her room (which was where she spent almost all of her time), she stank it up so badly that only she could stand being in there for more than a few seconds, as she had long since grown adjusted to the awful stench.

Did she have any relations outside of her parents? Of course she did, but she never met them. They didn't even know she existed. Sometimes her grandparents came over without realizing they had a grandchild. Her parents were embarrassed of her, ashamed, and wanted none to know of their bastard child. They locked her in her upstairs bedroom, too, whenever their friends came to call. Sometimes they went out with friends, and didn't return for hours. Alice could never tell exactly how long, and the best way she could judge time was by listening to her bedroom clock's ticking, monotonous and never-ending—although this was made difficult whenever it slowed down as its batteries slowly dwindled out of life.

Alice never wept. What was the point in weeping when nothing was ever going to change? But she did silently mourn, and she spent nearly all her time daydreaming about what it would be like to see (what was the point in having toys or books or a TV if she couldn't see anything?): what were colors like? Was blue really bright? Was black really dark? Blue sounded bright and black sounded dark, but it would make so much better a difference if she could actually _see_ the colors rather than imagine what they looked like.

This was how she spent her first six years of life. On her sixth birthday, everything changed.

That was when she heard her parents discuss the old animation studio. Alice had frowned. Once or twice they'd discussed the studio with their friends (Alice could hear through the thin floorboards what it was they were saying, and that often made her time spent in her room more interesting; it was almost like actually being a part of the conversation). Once was when a couple of teenagers decided to T.P. the place, only the next day the "streamers" (for that was what they looked like when strung about the place) had vanished like they had never been. The second time was when the mayor considered condemning the establishment once and for all, and the friend had said _finally_ , it was about time that old haunt was torn down in place for something more practical, like a mall. But for some reason the condemnation never took place; it was as if the building as a whole rejected the very idea, and warded the mayor off from following through with his declaration.

Alice had only a vague notion of what animation was—something kids watched on TV. She was sad that she couldn't see what this "animation" was. It sounded nice, just by the way the word was pronounced.

She was confused when there was a knock on the door later in the afternoon, and she heard the door open and creaks on the floorboard—footsteps—and someone grabbed her roughly by the arm. Her mother. She recognized her hand, smaller and slender, unlike her father's grip, which was larger and rough.

"Come on, Alice, we're leaving," her mother said roughly.

Surprised, Alice couldn't keep the inquiry from leaving her lips: "Where?" She had never gone out before.

"Somewhere," her mother snapped, and Alice fell silent, knowing not to ask any more questions.

She was led downstairs, then she heard the sound of a door unlock and felt for the first time the fresh air against her face, all over her skin. She felt something new beneath her toes (they'd neglected to fashion her with shoes, but she didn't mind, she'd never worn shoes before, being inside all the time); it felt rougher than the floors she was accustomed to. She rubbed her feet against the gravelly surface; she liked the feel of it, how rough it was.

She was yanked forward again. She heard another door open, and she was shoved rudely inside of some confined space. There were all sorts of feels to this place: something cool, something soft upon which she sat. She ran her hands over the leather cushion. Something was strapped over her, buckled into place. The door closed, and the thing she was placed into rumbled. Something smelled weird, but she couldn't decide if it was unpleasant or not.

 _This must be a car,_ she realized as she felt the vehicle start forward.

An undeterminable time passed, until finally it stopped. Doors opened, hands reached to unbuckle her from the seat, and she was dragged forward again.

"We should have thought of this before," her mother muttered, though there was something decidedly fearful about her tone. It was only a slight waver, masked mostly by some sort of sick desire, an eagerness to get a job done.

"Where are we?" Alice asked, her voice soft and cracked from disuse. She hardly ever spoke aloud, because she would be punished for breaking her parents' concentration—at least, that was what they said. This she wasn't sure she entirely believed, but she obeyed without question.

To her surprise, her mother answered her this time.

"Have you ever heard of the old, abandoned animation studio? I know you have, being the nosy, cheeky little brat you are."

Alice had never heard the word "cheeky" before, but her mother must have used it for some reason, which meant she must fall under that category. She nodded.

"Well, that is where you're staying from now on."

Alice didn't know what to think about this, how to feel. Should she be happy or sad that they were abandoning her? She must have done something wrong to displease him. Sadness should be the appropriate response to such rejection. But instead she felt…nothing. Only the similar, hopeless despair that always corrupted her. Being abandoned in this supposedly haunted place would be no different from her life previous. She would still be alone.

She stood there and listened as her mother wrestled with something, supposedly the door (it must be locked, possibly barred, if it were an abandoned haunted place), and it eventually opened with a loud creak. Her mother grabbed her arm and said nastily, "Hope you enjoy this place, darling. It's dark, so it won't make a difference that you can't see."

And with that, Alice was cast into the inky abyss.

…

Now here she was, slowly navigating her way through this studio. How big was it? She hoped not too big. It probably was smaller than she thought, but only felt bigger because she had been turned around more than once. She'd never been lost in her house because one of her parents had always led her to the bathroom or downstairs to the kitchen to eat and then back upstairs to her bedroom. She had no one to lead her now, and so she found it difficult to navigate her way.

Once she heard a loud bang, like something being dropped, or something like a big switch turning something on or off. Immediately after, music began to play, starting off as static before swinging into a merry little tune. Alice hadn't heard much music, but she hummed along to the tune, bouncing a little.

After a bit of this, she turned around—and promptly went face first into a wall. She let out a little "Whoof!" and fell back on her butt. She rubbed her forehead, which only felt a little sore…and then froze.

She had heard something, and could feel there was another living presence in here. Not quite in this room, yet, but close. Slowly closing in, coming closer to her.

She did not panic. She did not know if there was anything to fear. Sure, this place was haunted, but was there any real proof?

Still, her ears never lied. She had heard someone. She still heard someone.

Slithering along, slowly and not quietly. Slithering and stepping. _Stomp. Stomp. Stomp._

Alice stayed where she was. She couldn't run anyhow, if there really was something to fear in here. All she could do was sit there and wait and listen to the creature's ambling footsteps grow closer and closer. But their steps didn't sound ambling. They sounded determined, like their owner knew exactly where they wanted to go.

Like they sensed her, too.

Alice waited. She listened. She waited. She listened.

Breathing, now. She could hear the creature's growls and snarls, its intake of breath, curiously congested, growly because of this. Was their throat clogged with ink? She wanted to laugh at this, even if it was such a lame joke, but she found herself unable to procure the humor within to do so. She felt nothing except for a suffocating anticipation.

Now that it was closer, she could hear the creature's limp. One foot seemed to be dragging slightly, but it was walking steadily in spite of the defection of its foot. But a broken foot was different from broken eyes. At least it could still see. At least it could still walk well even with a dragging foot. She could barely walk with both feet intact.

And now she could feel its breath, and its dragging foot had stopped, and it was standing right in front of her. All she could hear was its ragged breathing, in and out, hoarse and coarse and terrifying to anyone but Alice, who still didn't know how to fear.

She just waited patiently for the creature to make the first move.

Its voice came from deep in the well of its throat. Masculine, it was more growling than speaking, and the words were sloshed together like ink, making it only slightly difficult to understand it.

 ** _"Well, well, what have we here? What are you doing here, little treat?"_**

He sounded slightly manic, as though he were smiling broadly while he spoke. Alice felt a little put off by this, but only a little.

"My mommy threw me away."

The air grew tense around her.

 ** _"Why?"_**

"Because I was born blind. I'm useless. I'm broken. I don't belong."

Silence.

"Mister?" she asked when he was quiet for some time, at least a few minutes.

There was a low scraping noise. She could not determine where it was coming from.

Something cold and slick, liquid yet dense enough to be somewhat solid, slithered up her arm, slowly, to cup her face, tilting her chin up. What was he searching for? Alice wondered. She already told him she was useless. Why bother being around her?

 ** _"You're young,"_** he mused in his low voice. **_"How old?"_**

"Today I turned six," she told him humbly.

For a fraction of a moment she thought she caught a low, angry buzz, deep in his throat. It happened too quickly for her to be sure, though, and before she could entirely process the noise, he said, **_"Come."_**

A large hand encompassed hers, the claws extending well past her wrist; he could practically grab her entire forearm. Gently, he eased her into a standing position and led her down a hallway. He spoke not a word to her throughout their journey, and all Alice could do was stare up into some space in awe.

Why was he helping her? Maybe he didn't care that she was broken? But why? Maybe he was broken too? At first, he had sounded like he might kill her (which wouldn't surprise her; he would be proof that this place was, to at least some degree, haunted after all), but then, after she had answered him, his voice had become more meditative.

For the first time in her life, Alice felt a light sort of feeling in her chest, making her feel like she might be lifted into the air, high enough so that her feet wouldn't be able to touch the ground.

* * *

 **A/N: Hey guys! This is an idea that just came to me, and I couldn't resist typing it down! :) This is going to be an ongoing story. I don't know how long it will be just yet, but it will last for a while, depending on the ideas I get.**


	2. Chapter 2

2: The Demon's Heart

Voices. Those were what woke him from his slumber. How long had he slept for this time? He had no idea. All he knew was that there was someone nearby—outside the studio. He growled and raised his head, and listened as he slowly and silently rose himself from the fetal position he had been curled up in. He traced a clawed hand down the wall, smearing five inky trails behind, and heard someone snarl something, then the door slam shut with a resounding echo.

He listened some more.

 _Drip, drip, drip._

That was all there was now. The dripping of ink. Dripping from the ceiling, gathering at some point on the floor by a corner.

What had all that been about? He decided to investigate.

Slowly, he shuffled forward, his broken foot making it more difficult to walk, but far from impossible. He was strong. He was the Ink Demon after all. He could not afford to be weak.

As he walked, growing nearer and nearer to the front entrance/exit, passing by Boris's decaying corpse on its slab, his anger grew. How dare they intrude upon his sacred ground! This was _his_ territory, no one else's. If this was that blasted Angel's sick sense of humor acting up again…

His hands shook in anticipation of wringing her neck and detaching her head from the rest of her body. A malicious grin, more like a snarl, spread across his face. Would she laugh then about his original form, with his head without neck floating above the rest of his body? Would she find it so funny then? He could barely restrain the giddy laughter that threatened to escape him. He did not want his prey aware of his presence just yet.

He reached the corner and grabbed it, leering into the hallway, at the far end of which stood the exit door. He frowned. No one was here. But he had sworn…Perhaps the voices were bothering him again?

There was a slight scuffle from one of the adjoining rooms. He stiffened, then his grin reappeared. A grin that would have once brought children's delight now brought terror and despair. One look at that grin and you knew you were dead. That was how all his victims, and victims-to-be, responded to his visage. And a part of him embraced that darkness; the more sinister side of himself giggled with glee at the thought of their cries and screams, the fear positively radiating off of them from all spores of their being.

 ** _'I wonder what delicious morsel has made the mistake of wandering into my domain today,'_** he mused, his grin growing ever wider, impossibly wide, and he went in search for his prey.

He wanted this game to last, however. It had been _so long_ since he'd had some company. All the rest had either run away or been murdered with his own blood-tainted claws. He wanted to make a game out of this. He wanted to make this _fun._

He followed his soon-to-be victim with the hungry desire to kill. He followed the shuffles at a slow, steady pace, taking his time, allowing himself to savor the moment.

Then he heard a "Whoof!" and the sound of someone banging into something, then falling.

He faltered, but only out of confusion, and only momentarily. He stopped at a doorframe and slowly peered in.

It was a small projector room, and music—a favorite tune of his, though he recognized it only dully with all the other malignant thoughts roaming around his head—was playing. The projector had turned on (it sometimes did that inexplicably), and it lit up the room further, adding to the light already provided by a few dim candles placed here and there.

He found his victim easily. She was faced away from him, rubbing her head from bumping it into the wall.

All he could do was stare. What was a human child doing in his studio?

For a long moment he was split—like he was torn into two separate personalities. One was telling him to forget the fact that she was just a child, to kill and maim her right there, or maybe toy with her for a while first, provoke her nastiest fears. The other half told him to get her out of here—now.

But that was impossible now, wasn't it?

He recollected himself and shuffled forward. The girl cocked her head, as though listening to him. He did not stop. He continued forward.

Shuffle, shuffle, shuffle. Step, step, step.

He stopped before her, leaning over her, ink dripping off his form and his smile bright and big as ever. He expected her to scream, to make some sound, some sort of ear-splitting ( _but delicious_ ) reaction. Instead, she just stared with blank eyes in his direction, but she appeared to be looking through rather than at him, as if she could not pinpoint where he was exactly.

 _Easier prey then,_ the more malignant form thought with drooling ecstasy, but the other part held him at bay. Curiosity did as well. Both parts of him were curious about the girl and her purpose for being here.

 ** _"Well, well, what have we here?"_** he mused. **_"What are you doing here, little treat?"_** He could not keep the mania from entering his voice, as it had existed as a part of him for countless decades now. He waited for the girl to at least flinch at his voice, but she barely reacted to it. His interest widened with his grin.

"My mommy threw me away."

The air grew tense around him. **_'What?'_** Had he heard correctly? He stared down at the helpless youngling, who only stared blankly back. Why would someone abandon such a young child, and in a place such as this, decrepit and "supposedly" (yes, but not confirmed out there) haunted? He no longer cared, at the moment, about this being his territory, or that she was trespassing on it. Curiosity dominated all other feelings. All others save for one, but it glowed dimly within him, and he wasn't able to identify it yet.

 ** _"Why?"_** he asked, his voice dangerously nonchalant.

"Because I was born blind. I'm useless. I'm broken. I don't belong."

Was it empathy that twanged in him, that made the grin disappear and turn into a frown of both anger and contemplation? But what was he angry at? The girl's parents? Impossible! Why should he sympathize with a human? Humans had betrayed him; they were not to be trusted—the Creators taught him that.

But this was only a child, he argued with himself. She didn't know any better. She was also blind, and because of that had been cast out. But wasn't blindness not all that uncommon? Her parents must be truly awful to just abandon her like that. And, he thought, taking a closer look at the girl as he bent down, she looked maltreated. He could see her cheekbones, and her hair was greasy and looked about to fall off. She was barefooted, and the plain dress she was clothed in (more like a cheap smock, and he wondered if there was any underwear underneath) was dirty.

"Mister?" she asked in a high, hoarse voice, cracking as though from disuse.

He lifted up her head, cupping her chin, to peer at her more closely. She waited patiently, eyes dull and unseeing. He could tell, because although they were looking at him, _she_ was looking through him. Her eyes were gray and lifeless. Still, even though she couldn't see him, she should be afraid of him! By the sound of his voice! By the feel of his inky touch! Why wasn't she afraid?

 ** _"You're young,"_** he said. **_"How old?"_**

"Today I turned six," she said.

A low growl emanated from his throat, and he released her chin. Six! He nearly roared with outrage. He didn't even pause to think in that moment about why he should care, she was only a human after all. All he felt then was a burning desire instead to tear out the throats of those who had mistreated this girl. How could anyone do this to a child? Even he…he wouldn't have really harmed her, would he?

He shook the thought away and turned to the girl. **_"Come,"_** he said, and reached out a massive claw to take her hand and slowly lead her to her feet and down the corridors. He did not wish to remain out in the open for long. He didn't run into Alice Angel's company, although, now that he thought about it, she was unlikely to be anywhere but her "hidden" sanctuary. He smirked at the thought of getting one over her again, teaching that bitch what happened when she messed with a demon.

"Mister?" came the soft voice again from behind him.

Surprised by the question, he said in a gruff voice, **_"Yeah?"_**

"Thank you."

He was too surprised by the declaration to respond. Instead he swiveled his head to the front again and felt an odd beating in his chest. For the first time in years, his heart pumped for a reason other than the primal need to survive.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Just a bit of a warning for this chapter: There's a bit of gore towards the end of the chapter-not a lot, but enough to give a warning about.**

 **I also wanted to say thanks for everyone who has read this story so far and I'm glad that you're enjoying it! But, if you came into this story hoping for something cheerful, then let me stop you right there. There will be cheerful moments, but there's a reason why this story is called 'Corruptive Tendencies'. Just thought I'd give you a heads up. ;)**

3: The Demon's Smile

He growled at the Searchers they passed, popping out from ink puddles piled up on the floor, for they immediately clamored forward upon sight of the human being he was leading on, eager to dig into her flesh.

 ** _'They're even more far gone than I am,'_** he thought with disgust.

Through his growls he commanded them to stay back, and if any one of them touched her in any way, he would tear _them_ apart. The Searchers whimpered and crawled backwards, disappearing into ink puddles through the floor and wall.

"What were those?" the girl asked, her head cocked to the right.

 ** _"Searchers,"_** he growled. **_"They won't harm you as long as you're with me, so don't loosen your grip."_**

Which made him wonder: Why was he helping this human again? He wished his thoughts would stop bumbling around confusedly and his feelings would finally begin to make sense.

"Oh," she said simply, and that was that. No follow-up questions. He felt pleased she did not badger him with more questions. They continued on.

Sometime later, they reached an upside down pentagram drawn on one of the walls. **_'Only one of many,'_** he thought with no satisfaction.

 ** _"Hold on tightly, and whatever you feel, do not let go,"_** he warned the girl. She looked uncertain, but she nodded and tightened her grip.

The demon turned back to the pentagram and stepped through it. Ink pooled around them, and the girl shivered, but her grip was unwavering. They emerged through the other side of a completely different wall somewhere levels below in the studio. It was a large room full of ink. Boards drifted here and there, there was an actor's vanity set floating over in a corner, and one corner was completely dry.

He looked at the girl, standing knee deep in the ink, and remembered how contagious this ink could be to humans. He was barely able to control his own natural urges; in this unstable form, he could just barely keep the substance forming him from killing her.

With a barely contained sigh, he knelt down to grip the girl under both her armpits (her legs coming free with a great _plop_ ), and gently carried her over the lake of ink to plop her on the only corner free of ink. Her ink-covered legs wobbled, and at first it seemed she might fall, but she managed to keep her balance.

The Ink Demon released her and stepped back, staring at her with his own head cocked. The girl wrung her hands together—not nervously, but in order to have something to do—and stared at his legs, or that general area, at least. Her lips were pressed together, like she wanted to speak, maybe inquire something, but she did not.

He fidgeted, suddenly feeling uncertain of what to do. Now that he had brought her here to his secret sanctuary (not even Alice knew exactly where it was hidden), what would he do with her? Certainly he couldn't keep her here; he had more important, demony things to do!

 ** _'Like what?'_** he asked himself sourly. **_'Lie around and snore all day? Wander about aimlessly? Face it, you've got nothing to do.'_**

Still, he couldn't possibly keep her here or take care of her. For one thing, delving into the little knowledge he had about human children other than how to make them laugh or otherwise entertain them (one of the many perks of being a once-famed cartoon character), he had none of the supplies necessary to take care of her. The only food down here was Bacon Soup, but she couldn't sustain herself on only that. Besides, there was no water down here.

He didn't even consider the idea of releasing her from the studio. It was impossible. Whomever entered shan't return. Hadn't Joey Drew said that before he'd…?

He shivered, not wanting to let that image sink in any further than it needed to.

So he couldn't free her _and_ he couldn't keep her here. What was he supposed to do about this?

As he was thinking frantically, growing more and more frustrated by the second, about what to do, he heard a loud growl and looked down at the girl. Of course. It had come from her stomach. Well, at least there was _one_ food source down here, he thought with a huff.

The girl pressed her hands to her stomach, as though embarrassed and fearful about the noise it had emanated. "I'm sorry," she apologized, looking at the Ink Demon—or rather, at the space to his left. Close enough.

He looked at her quizzically. Was she…apologizing for being hungry? What kind of household had she been raised in?

He shook his head wonderingly. **_"Don't apologize,"_** he said, a bit rougher than he had intended. He looked around for some soup, and found a few cans lying forgotten by his pentagram. They were safe from the ink, and unopened. Though, when he picked one up, he saw that the expiration date had long come and gone. He shrugged. He supposed food was food, and it would be worse not to give her any, even if it might make her sick. Hopefully not _too_ sick, he thought ruefully.

 ** _"Here,"_** he said, handing her the can. She reached for it, but her fingers only grabbed empty air.

Oh. Right. Blind.

He opened the can easily, then took her hand with as much gentleness as he could muster and guided it to the can. This allowed her to grab it with her other hand, too, and tip the can back so she could drink its contents. She made a little face, but she didn't stop drinking the soup. She drained the can fast, and finished with a satisfied _"Ah"_.

"Thank you," she said.

 ** _"Uh, it's no problem,"_** he said, looking away.

She frowned, looking up at him with more accuracy than before. Her eyes touched his horns now.

"Why are you being so nice to me?"

 ** _"Huh?"_**

He looked abruptly down at her again, surprised by the question. He set his hands on his hips as he considered the question.

 ** _"I guess because I have nothing better to do,"_** he muttered.

"Oh." There was no disappointment in that "Oh", just curiosity. His fingers twitched, and he wondered why while he commanded them through nerve signals to stop.

"Who are you?"

 ** _'And here come the questions.'_** He threw his head back to look up at the ceiling, and then he decided, **_'You know what? Might as well. 'Slong as they're not too complicated.'_**

 ** _"I used to be famous, a star on television. 'Course, that was long ago, and you can't exactly watch stuff on television, can ya?"_**

She shook her head. "No. I was never allowed to listen to it, either."

He frowned, but made no comment. He decided to introduce himself to her. It wouldn't make a difference to her, but he might as well.

 ** _"Anyways, I was once a well-known cartoon, the star of the show. Bendy, Bendy the Dancing Demon."_**

"Demon?" the girl repeated. "Mommy used to call me that sometimes. What's it mean?"

Bendy paused to suppress a growl (where was this coming from?), then calmed down and replied, **_"It's a little complicated to explain, however, I can assure you that demons are not bad. Otherwise why would everyone love me?"_**

She giggled. "You're funny."

He puffed out a cheek. **_"Am not."_**

"You don't _feel_ like a cartoon."

 ** _"Do you even know what a cartoon is, darlin'?"_**

"Animated pictures? I'm blind, not deaf."

 ** _"I can see that, sweetheart."_**

It took her a moment for her to realize this was a joke and she giggled again.

"Whatever demons are, I'm glad I'm one. You're so nice."

This caught him off-guard. Him? Nice? Once, maybe, but that was a long time ago. Things were different now. Very different. If only she knew…but it would be better off for her not to know. He should explain to her eventually, however, that she was in fact _not_ a demon, that they were a completely different thing from humans. But that could wait for another time.

 ** _"What's your name, little one?"_** he asked to change the subject a little.

"Oh. It's Alice!"

Bendy twitched visibly at this. Alice. Of all the names, it had to be _Alice._ He composed himself quickly, however. Plenty of human females were named Alice, after all. And this girl was nothing like that tiring, lazy bitch who always got others to do her dirty work. Not that Bendy ever made her job easy.

 ** _"Well, then,"_** he said, pretending to tip a hat even though she couldn't see, **_"it's a pleasure meetin' ya, Alice."_**

His voice was changing a little, he realized. It had regained some of its higher lilt from back when. For the first time in a while, his smile was genuine.

...

At first he could not determine the feeling stealing through him. All he had known for the past three decades was pain—pain and darkness and fear and rage. Rage, primarily. Rage at the cartoon who had turned him into this monstrous inky abyss. Rage at his fellow co-workers for abandoning them; at least they tried to, anyway. He would not let anyone abandon after…

After…

What had his name been again? It was becoming so difficult lately to remember where he was, why he was here, and where his rage came from. The feeling was almost second nature to him now. It was like a part of him.

His claws twitched. He wanted to wrap them around someone's throat, _anyone's_ throat. He wanted to make them pay, all of them pay. All of them…of…them…

He heard a slithering to his right.

Had he wandered off again? He couldn't recall leaving his sanctuary. This happened a lot, too—gaps in his memory, things he did he couldn't remember doing. He must be wandering one of the many corridors, endless winding and twining around and around in an endless maze. Why had he constructed such a maze?

Why couldn't he remember?!

Slither, slither.

A low growl emanated from the base of his throat. A low moan had accompanied the slithering. He knew who was with him now. He felt smaller hands begin to grope at him, trying to attack him, but he was bigger and stronger than it, stronger than them all.

Stronger than even that accursed ink demon.

With a snap of his mind, he grabbed the Searcher and thrust its head into his mouth. The juices of the deformed being ran down his chin, his chest, as he slobbered hungrily on his meal. Loud smacks filled the corridor. Any other nearby Searchers instantly fled, not wanting to become a meal, also.

But his hunger was satiated. Replenished, he left the remains of his victim behind and began shuffling forward again.

Always shuffling. Always alone. Always empty.

When would it ever end?

He didn't want it to end.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Hey guys! Sorry this is a bit of a short one, but now things are starting to heat up! *rubs hands together excitedly***

Disclaimer: I do not own Bendy and the Ink Machine, only this story and my OC.

* * *

4: Arrival

Alice wiped the ink off her legs using a towel Bendy had lent her, which he gave to her carefully to avoid dirtying it. It took her a while to clean her legs using only her sense of touch, but the Ink Demon, he told her in a slightly embarrassed tone, which she could just barely detect with her ears, would have only made it worse.

Finally she finished, and she cast the towel aside.

"Mr. Bendy?" she asked in a quiet voice, still not adjusted to speaking. She had never spoken this much all at one time, having not been allowed to at home.

 ** _"Just Bendy. Don't call me Mister, Missus, or Sir. Or late to dinner."_** There was a smirk in his voice.

Alice stared, not getting the joke.

 ** _"Uh, never mind. What is it, kid?"_**

"I'm going to be living with you now, right?"

 ** _"…Yes."_**

The grudging hesitation in his voice made her insides clam up.

"Sorry," she whispered.

 ** _"What do you have to be sorry for, kid?"_**

"I must be such a burden to you."

For a while there was silence, and Alice gulped, wondering if she should have spoken at all. This Bendy, this Ink Demon—whomever and whatever he was, she did not know him. She could not be sure if he would be even worse in punishing her than her mommy and daddy had been. Her fingers curled into the wood instinctively, and she tensed her muscles, prepared for a lashing out—either verbal or physical.

She heard and felt the slight tremors in the floor as he approached her, and then suddenly she was lifted and crushed against something cool, both liquid and solid. She recognized it as his skin from holding his hand earlier. It took her a moment to realize that he was holding her to him, but not in a threatening manner; no, instead it seemed almost… _comforting._

"B-bendy?" She stuttered slightly, speaking softly.

 ** _"You're not a burden,"_** he told her firmly. **_"I don't want to ever hear you say that again. Do you understand me?"_**

Stunned, unable to comprehend why she was not being punished (surely she had been insolent and too forward in speaking in such a manner to him), she did not say anything, but nodded in reply. It was a moment before she did say anything.

"What is this?"

 ** _"This is called a hug."_**

…

He was sitting now, his back against the wall, and the girl curled up on him, fast asleep. Shortly after he had took her into an embrace, she had nodded off, and he sat himself down gently so as not to wake her. He still held her, in a light but protective manner.

He did not understand why he had done that, why her words had affected him so. It couldn't be because…no, surely he could not _relate_ to her! She was a human, remember? he told himself. Of the same species of Joey Drew, of the others who had abandoned them, betrayed them.

Yet she was so young, and in spite of the crimes of her fellow species, innocent. She was innocent. She had done nothing to deserve distrust or condemnation for something that she had not even been a part of.

He was surprised he had been able to hold her against him for so long. Normally he would have already lost control by now, and his mind would be far gone again after temporarily latching onto a brief moment of sanity. But for some reason he found it easier to keep his thoughts clear, and to keep the ink from overflowing and harming her. Was she the reason for this?

He leaned back his head and closed his eyes (which were no longer quite so covered with ink).

 _If only…_ He was unable to finish the thought before drifting asleep.

…

Gloved fingers wrapped around the can of soup, which trembled slightly in their grip. Their owner glanced around furtively, but, seeing no one, he relaxed visibly and popped open the can with ease. He tipped it back and his throat burned as its contents slithered down it, to plop satisfyingly into the bottom of his stomach.

Then he froze; he had heard something.

A shadow flitted in his right peripheral vision. He dropped the can and dashed clumsily away, running as fast as his toon legs would carry him.

There were snaps and clacks and snarls from behind. He skidded around a corner, slamming into the wall but pushing off it to regain momentum. The Fisher followed in close pursuit, lurching in dangerously close proximity. Why could these corridors not be a bit lighter? he thought anxiously as he found a door and slammed it shut against The Fisher, who pushed against it with all his might.

Boris, however, was stronger, and he pulled over a chair to temporarily barricade the door before he was able to push in the way of it a larger and much stronger desk. There was pounding on the other side of the door, then fading growls and footsteps as The Fisher begrudgingly gave up on his prey…this time.

Boris heaved a silent sigh of relief and wiped his forehead of faux sweat. He looked around the room he was in, and recognized it as being in one of the upper levels—though there were so many that he really wasn't all that close to the surface, though much closer by comparison to those of which he normally traversed. Why oh why did he have to leave the safe house? Why couldn't he have ignored the rumblings of his stomach just this once?

Cautiously, he walked forward, and found a door standing ajar. To the left were shelves of Bendy plushies, and he shuddered, loathing to think of what might happen if the Ink Demon ever came near here; somehow he doubted a barred door would be enough to hold him off.

Then there was a whoosh; not of air, at least, not in the literal sense, but more in the spiritual. It whipped through the room, and sent a rush of energy through Boris like a sudden shock. He jolted upright, rigid as a board, in that nanosecond, and knew; somehow he just _knew_.

The door to the studio had just opened.

And he was not the only one to have felt it.

…

"All right Joey. I'm here. Let's see if we can find what you wanted me to see."


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Wow, this is the longest chapter I've done so far! *Victory dance* I'm glad you are all liking this so far! And thanks for the 1K views! I know I'm doing something right if this many people are reading this story! ^^**

Disclaimer: I do not own Bendy and the Ink Machine, only this story and my OC.

* * *

5: Protective

Bendy snapped awake as a cold shudder ran through him. A low growl rumbled in his throat, for he knew immediately:

Someone had entered the studio.

Now that he had more sense in him, he remembered to peer through the cutouts casually leaning here and there on the walls. He could do this from wherever, as easy as anything. He couldn't explain how—he just did it.

Now, he saw who had entered the studio, and who was proceeding cautiously down the hallway, and scowled.

 ** _'Henry.'_**

His claws unconsciously clenched, and Alice let out a small whimper as they dug into her skin. Instantly he relaxed his grip, and she calmed down in her sleep. He looked down at her for a long moment, almost fondly, and then he made his decision.

 ** _"Wake up, Alice,"_** he told her gently, shaking her a little.

She let out a little moan as she stirred into consciousness. "Bendy?" she mumbled sleepily, rubbing her eyes and sitting up. Then she grinned. "I'm glad it wasn't a dream that I met you."

Bendy didn't know why that statement flattered him so much. He shook his head to clear it.

 ** _"Did you sleep comfortably?"_**

She nodded. "Yes. Thank you."

 ** _"It was nothing,"_** he told her. **_"I have some news to tell you."_**

She sat up eagerly, unseeing eyes trained on his ink-covered face, as she listened to what he had to say.

 ** _"I must leave, but only temporarily. I'll return in a little while, but there is something I have to take care of. In the meanwhile, I need for you to stay here, where it's safe. You won't be able to leave without me, and nothing will be able to get in."_**

"What do you have to take care of?" she asked, curious.

 ** _"Just a bit of a pest issue. Nothing serious,"_** he said vaguely.

She nodded. She did not understand why he had to go, but he had said it was only temporary, and so far he had shown only kindness to her, so she had no reason to doubt his word. Still, a part of her feared that he would abandon her—that he was no different, no better, than her parents. That eventually he _would_ start yelling at her, and punish her, because his kindness was far too good to be true. What if this was all just a long dream that she could wake up from at any moment?

If this was a dream, she did not want to ever wake up.

Meanwhile, Bendy stood and left to gather some cans of bacon soup for her, setting them right beside her so she wouldn't have any trouble searching for them with her hands. He didn't know for exactly how long he would be out for—a few hours at most; how long did it take to kill a single human, and an old, slow one at that? (And besides, he wanted to have some _fun_ first.)

Soon, though, he would have to find water for her—she would not survive on soup alone—but hopefully the liquid in the cans would satiate her thirst for the time being.

Before he left, he glanced back at her one last time. He didn't understand why he felt this way. Maybe it was because all he had known these past thirty years were darkness and cruelty. Pain and anguish. Torture and death. But this girl….In spite of her own hardships, she had been nothing but kind to him. He had forgotten what it was like to be kind, thoughtful, and caring.

What it was like to be Bendy the Dancing Demon.

But now it was slowly returning to him, and maybe that was why he silently thanked her as he left.

Maybe that was why he cared.

…

Echoing footsteps on walls dampened with ink, dripping and sliding down its worn surface. Tremulous fingers, nervously _tap-tapping_ the denim of his jeans. Furtive glances at the posters and cutouts around him—at the smile that always seemed to be there, the black, unseeing eyes that always seemed to be watching him. The smile, he thought, seemed to be a leer rather than a cheerful grin.

But maybe that was just because of the atmosphere of the place.

No one was here. He frowned, confused and, to be honest, a bit apprehensive, even though he knew there was no reason to be; this was his old workplace, after all, where he had spent countless hours drawing and goofing off with co-workers and dreaming big with Joey Drew, his biggest friend of the place and whom he got along with the most.

But it wasn't like that now. He was all alone; none of his co-workers laughter were echoing down the hall. Sammy Lawrence's snappish reprimands weren't following these loud brays as he tried to concentrate on his work. The projector in the front room was on, but nothing was showing on it. Henry turned it off—feeling it more than slightly unnerving to keep the equipment running—and instantly regretted it as the silence afterwards only increased the ambience flooding the room like great batches of ink.

Where was Joey? Henry wondered. He had wanted to show him something—had said so in the letter he'd sent him. So then why was he not here? Why was the place seemingly empty?

 _I swear to God if this was his or someone else's idea of a good prank—_

 _CRASH!_

He leaped backward, startled out of his mental reprimand at whoever had sent him the yellowed letter now tucked into his pocket as a loose board fell from the ceiling and landed with a booming clatter on the ground.

Henry stared at it, breathing heavily and clutching his shirt over where his heart pumped frantically. _Son of a…_ It was just a board, he told himself. He had been jumpscared by a piece of falling wood. He shook his head at himself, and gave a wry chuckle.

He really shouldn't be getting so worked up over nothing. After all, if no one was here, then he had no reason to be afraid of something leaping out at him from the—

He froze, his heart rattling against his ribcage like a prisoner shoving against the bars of his cage, eager to be freed.

That cutout…hadn't been there before.

He rubbed his head and smacked himself once. Maybe old age was getting to him. Not that he was _that_ old—he was only middle-aged. Still…

He walked up to the Bendy cutout and said, almost admonishingly to it, "You really gave me a scare there, pal. Warn me before you do that next time, all right?"

He gave a chuckle and moved on, not expecting the response that followed his words.

 ** _"Aww, but then killing you wouldn't be as fun."_**

Henry whipped around with a frightened gasp, looking for the one who had spoken, but there was no one. No one he could see, anyhow.

"Who…who's there?" he stammered, backing up slowly, looking around him furtively for any signs of movement, but detecting none so far. Then he thought he saw a sliver of something black—and _inky?_ —slither across the floor, but too fast and sudden for him to be certain, because suddenly it was gone. Yet he could still feel the other's presence, as well as though he were pressed against him.

"Joey? Is that you?" Henry asked.

There was a gurgling chuckle in reply to his stuttering inquiry, and Henry swallowed. Whoever this was, this wasn't Joey. He summoned a bit of courage, enough to ask in a louder voice, "Are you the one who sent me this letter? If so, then this was a poor idea of a joke."

Outright laughter followed this, and Henry shuddered in spite of himself. The mania in that laugh was by far the most frightening thing he had ever heard. He clenched his hands, but in a fearful rather than defiant manner.

 ** _"Oh, Henry,"_** the other person said, their voice sounding masculine, and an odd mixture of high and low, as though they could not decide what voice to put on when they woke up that morning. **_"I'd forgotten how_ FUNNY _you are."_**

"H-how do you know my name?"

Henry couldn't believe this; he simply could not believe this.

What the hell was going on? Who was this guy? How did he—?

His endless tirade of questions was interrupted by an inky chuckle.

 ** _"Don't you remember me, Henry?"_** The words sounded a bit growled now, not quite so carefree but _angry_ , and Henry did not know why he sounded angry, but knew if he continued to be things would get much worse than his light-hearted mania had been. **_"You wound me."_**

"Step into the light where I can see you," Henry demanded suddenly, surprising himself. He wasn't all too sure he _wanted_ to see what this— _thing_ was. But at the same time, his mind reasoned, things hidden in the dark were often worse when left to one's imagination than when they were actually viewed.

Often, yes.

But in this case, when the Demon complied with a guttural, **_"If you insist…"_** and he stepped out of the shadows and into what little light was offered in this place, Henry was oh, so wrong.

What stood before him was _way_ worse.

…

Alice sat against the wall, staying put as Bendy had instructed her to do. She was downing another can of soup—she had already devoured one, being hungrier than she had initially thought—when a loud scream startled her into dropping the can, gravity spilling the cold contents all over her lap and several splatters splashed the floor. But she paid them no heed, instead staring in the direction of the loud echo of a scream, listening for another intently.

She couldn't make out anything else.

She knew what Bendy had said…but…

Slowly, using her hands to support herself, she stood up, being careful not to slip on any of the cans. She walked slowly ahead of her, but then stopped once her toes came in contact with a wet, squishy fluid—ink, she realized. She stepped back and hesitated; she did not know how much ink lay ahead of her, and did it really matter who that scream had belonged to? Bendy told her to stay _here_ ….

But what if someone was in trouble? That scream, its owner was absolutely terrified.

And that scream did not suit Bendy, whose voice was lower, although mixed with a slightly high tone that was barely discernible through his rougher dialect.

She shook her head to clear it. She didn't know what to do: find a way out, or stay. But she couldn't leave, could she, she remembered. Bendy had told her specifically that only he could exit and enter this sanctuary. And bring along anyone he deemed worthy enough.

Alice told herself to calm down, that there was nothing she could do, and sat back down to listen as the thumps and growls grew closer and closer.

…

Henry had never run so fast in his life. Nor had he ever been so terrified.

Bendy had never felt such exhilaration—not even when he had made Joey pay for his own sins. Because while Joey's had been terrible, Henry's were downright unforgivable. He'd abandoned him in his time of need, done nothing to help him or the others, had acted as though he didn't even care what happened to them. And now here he was, acting like the victim and screaming, horrified, before turning tail to run for his life.

Bendy couldn't wait to tear into his flesh, to feel the bend of his ribs as they snapped into itty bitty pieces, to taste the sweet, oozing blood from his various wounds once the Demon had pinned him down into a vulnerable position. He laughed and growled, spurring Henry on, ever faster, and thus making the hunt all the more enjoyable for him.

Once or twice he had to slam into a wall to grab more momentum, and Bendy mimicked him hardly even trying to keep up. Sure, he could summon the ink now flooding through the halls to wrap around Henry's ankles, hold him tight—but where was the fun in an immobile prey? Where was the _challenge?_

 ** _"You think you can run?"_** he called after the stumbling man. He laughed again; humans were remarkably clumsy. Unlike he, who simply passed through and over objects that were in his way, either originally there or pushed over in a vain attempt for the man to gain some ground between himself and his pursuer, to distract Bendy—again, laughable.

 ** _"You think you can run from ME?!"_** he shrieked.

And then he noticed one of the walls they were passing. He hesitated in his moment of euphoria. He recognized that they were heading closer to his hidden sanctuary. And while in his right mind he would have understood that Henry could not possibly enter it, in his current state he could not register this.

With a guttural growl, his predatory leer morphing into a frown, he splashed down, becoming one with the ink pooling around the man's feet and swiftly passed around him to pop back up with another, longer growl, warning the man off. Henry stopped, gaping, probably trying to comprehend how Bendy had ended up in front of him when he had just been chasing from behind.

Bendy crouched and tensed, glaring at Henry through the ink dripping down his face. Why was he even so paranoid? a dim part of him wondered, just barely able to make a coherent thought. His growls subsided for a moment as he struggled to remember what was so important about his sanctuary that he would act like this—so protective-like.

Then he heard a call through one of the walls: "Bendy?"

He remembered with a shock. He used his power to peer through a cutout that leaned against the wall Alice was still sitting against. She was looking towards the direction in which he and Henry were having their little standoff.

 ** _'That's right…'_** Bendy thought as he glanced at the wall behind him. This wall had a pentagram drawn on it, which was his entrance into the hidden sanctuary beyond. Which was just beyond this hallway.

Which was where Alice was, no doubt hearing the commotion outside and wondering what was going on.

Bendy glanced back at Henry, to see if he had heard the girl, and it certainly seemed he had heard _something_ , because he was staring at the wall behind Bendy curiously. Or perhaps he only spared it as much attention as the Demon was.

Whatever the case, Bendy's hackles instantly raised. He began growling again, a wordless—but absolutely clear—threat.

Henry took a step back, then two, then full out ran until he disappeared around the corner.

Bendy listened to the sounds of his own heartbeat fill the void as he struggled to reclaim his mind and senses. Henry was gone, he told himself. He hadn't heard anything—and even if he had, he would not be able to muster the courage to come around here again.

A part of Bendy wondered why he was going after the intruder, but he told himself he would pursue him later. Let Henry wander for a little while. Maybe one of the other malformations would find him. Bendy's mouth turned upwards with twisted glee as he imagined Joey, of all of them, meeting Henry down in this dismal abyss. How ironic would _that_ be!

But for now, he reminded himself, and let the grin fall so he could regain his composure, he must check in on the girl. For some odd reason, he did not want her to feel worried about him.

And for the hundredth time he wondered, as he stepped through the pentagram into his home, why he even cared.

…

"Bendy!" Alice called cheerfully. She could hear his sopping footsteps as he reentered the room and approached her.

 ** _"Heya, toots,"_** he replied, sounding somewhat weary but not winded, as if the task he had had to take care of was more mentally taxing than it was physically so.

"I heard growls and a lot of other loud noises," Alice said, frowning. "Are you all right?"

 ** _"I'm fit as a fiddle in May, thanks for asking."_** She could hear the grin in his voice, and she grinned back.

He settled down next to her.

 ** _"I might have to head out again,"_** he told her. **_"My…excursion didn't go quite as planned. But don't worry—it will be taken care of soon enough. For now, I wanted to check on you. Are you all right? Not getting enough to eat or drink? Tired? Sick?"_**

Alice was overwhelmed by all the questions and the selflessness in which he delivered them. No one had ever cared about her before, and certainly never asked how she was feeling. She didn't know quite how to respond, and so hesitated at first before replying.

"I…guess I'm a little thirsty. But other than that, I'm fine."

She spoke truthfully, but there was an edge of doubt in his voice as he asked, **_"What about a bath? Yech, when's the last time you took one?"_**

She blushed and shrugged, unable to answer because she couldn't recall the last time she had taken one—or if she had ever taken one, for that matter.

 ** _"Come on, I know a place that'll have the water you need for both a good clean and drinkin'. Some o' the workers lived here once, so their accommodations should still be up and running."_**

"Accommodations?" she questioned.

 ** _"Y'know, a person's living space, and the stuff in it."_**

She made a silent 'oh' with her lips. Bendy chuckled.

 ** _"Come on, kiddo."_**

He led her out of the room, through the pentagram in the wall. The ink, he noticed, was becoming much easier to handle. He wondered….This way would be much slower, but….

He stopped, prompting Alice's head to tilt with confusion. What was—?

Before she could finish the thought, large hands suddenly scooped her up and gently placed her behind something roundish-shaped. He led her arms so they clung firmly, but not tightly, around a less thick appendage.

 ** _"Hold on tightly,"_** he warned her, and she made sure both her hands and feet had sturdy grips—as sturdy as you could get riding piggyback on a giant Ink Demon.

She nodded to tell him she was ready, and he took off down the hallways at an amazing speed. Her hair flew back, and she wondered if this was what flying felt like.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: And now for a shorter chapter.**

 **Welp, this took longer than I expected, and it's not my favorite except for the end *no spoilers (winks)*. But hopefully you guys like it and if you have any tips as to how I can improve my writing or story please let me know!**

Disclaimer: I do not own Bendy and the Ink Machine, only this story and my OC.

* * *

6: A Friend

Bendy skidded to an abrupt halt, and in reaction Alice tightened her grip around his neck. Bendy winced slightly—the kid was pretty strong, in spite of her size—and opened the door before them.

Inside was Joey Drew's former living space. It was a struggle for him to keep his emotions in kept, but he managed to reign in his anger and trudged through the room, leaving ink splotches in his wake. He pushed open another door, which led to the bathroom.

Bendy stared at the tub, suddenly posed with a problem. He knew that the water would run, just as well as the projectors and lights still did. That wasn't the issue.

What concerned him _was_ the water—more specifically, its properties, especially when it came into contact with ink. His ink, especially. He would have to help the kid into the tub, as she would have difficulty doing so herself, and he doubted that she knew how to wash herself, so he would have to help with that as well. But if too much water landed on him, in his current, volatile state…he shuddered. That would not be a pleasant sight, and an even worse feeling.

"Mister…Bendy?" she asked, catching herself in time.

He didn't quite hear her, as he was now engaged in a fierce debate with himself.

 ** _'Just leave her here! She can learn to fend for herself. Right now, there's that pest to get rid of!'_** his more malignant self growled.

 ** _'Never mind him for now,'_** his calmer self argued (in a voice that sounded much like how he had in days of old, back before this madness had corrupted him). **_'Someone else will take care of him.'_**

 ** _'You're just growing_ soft."**

Alice, meanwhile, could sense that there was something wrong with her companion. He felt tenser than usual, and she could hear something in his throat, almost like something was caught in there—like a barely suppressed growl.

The whole altercation lasted for maybe ten seconds, but by then Bendy had made up his mind.

Alice relaxed when his body came into life, him crouching down so that she could easily slide off. Maybe she had jumped to conclusions, she decided, maybe he was just thinking about something for a moment and was lost in space for a time. The thought made her feel better.

Bendy straightened once she had backed up a few steps after asking her to give him space. He looked down at his hands—so clawed now, so inky black, without any trace of his cartoony rubberness, the gloves all gone—and wondered if this would work. If he cleared his mind completely, if he concentrated enough, would it work?

 _Could_ it work, even momentarily?

Could he go back?

…

Henry sat, panting, practically choking for breath, at, ironically, his old desk, which he had just plopped down at rather coincidentally. Or maybe not so coincidentally, a part of him began to entertain, but he dismissed it, not wanting to think about anymore crazy things—although so many things were crazy now.

How in hell's blazes had Joey managed to bring Bendy, a _cartoon character_ , to life? And why was he completely off-model? He was way taller than the sketches scattered haphazardly across his desk, and without a hint of cartoon to him. He was inky—he was _dripping_ all over with the stuff—and his horns were more curved than they should be. No gloves, no shoes. His hands ended in claws instead, his feet in claw-like hooves. No eyes (at least, none that he could see), an almost completely ink-covered face—with the exception of his smile. Oh God, why was it even possible for a smile like that to exist? Like the Cheshire cat's grin, only way, _way_ more terrifying.

All in all, Bendy was a literal demon—far more demon-like than he should be. As in, not only in his appearance, but in his attitude, his display. He was a far cry from the cute, lovable creature Joey had created all those years ago.

He shuddered and glanced around him, suddenly feeling as though there were a pair of eyes scouring him in the semi-darkness. Nothing he could see, but he'd best get moving: He didn't want to be caught out here, half-distracted thanks to his mind's ramblings.

Standing up, he groaned as something in his back gave out a snap, crackle, and pop. Placing his hands over the spot, he leaned back almost uncomfortably far to put whatever had popped out back into place. Once that was done, he raised a hand to pass over his face, squeezing his eyelids gently, as he let out a weary sigh.

Well, he thought, there was no use moping. If he wanted to live, he'd have to keep moving.

He just hoped that there was nothing else haunting this studio that wanted to kill him.

He went around the corner, and saw something written on the wall in the same ink coating everything else in this dismal place. _Dreams come true,_ it seemed to say in a mocking tone.

Henry masked another shiver by clenching his fists and steeling his jaw—and then jumped when he heard a moaning voice, low and incomprehensible, accompanied by a slithering. He turned—it was coming from directly behind—and found himself looking down at a hunched blob-like creature, about waist-high, with no discernible eyes or nose. It had only an upper body, which emerged from the ink like a genie from a lamp, and it was prowling towards him on its large hands—or, rather, what he assumed were hands.

It seemed less intelligent than that malformed version of Bendy, but it seemed to possess the same malignant desire to kill Henry.

 _Well, shit._

…

Alice could feel the change immediately—not through physical contact, but by a change in the air. It was as if all the darkness and eeriness that accompanied this place had been sucked from the area, and trapped into a bottle plugged by a cork. A tightly wound bottle, just about to burst into a million shattered pieces. But it managed to hold itself together, just barely.

 _"You all right kid?"_

Alice gasped. She didn't mean to. It was just…the voice wasn't what she had expected it to be. It was _Bendy_ , she realized, but different…less growly and more friendly. At least less hostile.

"Bendy?" she said.

A chuckle. _"That's my name, kiddo. Don't wear it out."_ She could just imagine him tapping a wink as he said that.

"Why do you sound so different?" she asked.

 _"It's a bit complicated,"_ he said a little elusively, _"but I'll tell you later. Right now you should really be takin' a bath. You ever notice how much you stink?"_

She flushed. "I do not stink!" she protested, even though she knew very well that she did stink, terribly at that—even if she'd grown so used to the smell that she could no longer sense the aura of filth surrounding her.

He only laughed at that, a good-natured laugh. She grinned, unable to help herself. It was an infectious laugh, one you could not help but feel better when you heard it. It seemed to lighten up the air around her, and the corked bottle no longer felt so strained.

 _"C'mon, I'll help you in the tub."_

She let out another silent gasp. The hands that helped her up were much smaller—though their owner still obviously taller than she was—and they were _gloved._ She could not process what this meant, and even if she could, her thoughts were quickly distracted as she plunged into a cold bath of water. She shivered violently.

"It's too cold," she said through chattering teeth.

 _"Well, there's no heater in here so you're just going to have to deal with it, kiddo."_

"All right," she relented easily.

Bendy, meanwhile, could not remember the last time he'd felt this happy. He could not have explained it entirely—not at the moment, anyway—but somehow this child made him feel almost like himself again. She was, after all, the reason why he had reverted to this form…somehow. He didn't know how he had done it—no matter how many times he had willed himself to do it before, it had never worked. But _this_ time…this time it worked so easily.

Maybe it was because he was no longer alone. Maybe it was because he was doing this for her, and not just for himself.

Still—and he flinched slightly as his aggressive side began to fight back, to turn back—he knew he could not keep this up forever. He would have to clean her up quickly, but thoroughly, before he returned to that _thing._

But for now he resolved to enjoy himself, and laughed when a bubble accidentally popped in Alice's mouth and she made a surprised and disgusted face.

It did not occur to him immediately that the reason he was behaving this way towards Alice—so protectively—was because of his original purpose. He had been created to entertain children. Alice was a child. So of course he would never harm her, although he was doing a pretty lousy job at entertainment. Regardless, when this later occurred to him when he was drying her off with a clean towel he had found in a cabinet, he knew that he would never harm her. Even in his corrupted form, he would never harm her. It wasn't simply because he had been originally created this way.

It was because he was beginning to care.

And he still did, even after she was clothed and cleaned and he stretched painfully back into his demonic form. And his grin widened when she did not care and still accepted him as a friend, and a protector in this dismal, broken-down universe.

A friend…how long had it been since he'd had a friend?

It was a nice feeling, one that he never wanted to go away.

…

Hours had passed. Bendy had spent them in the sanctuary with the girl, recounting to her his many adventures, to which many she had giggled good-naturedly, much to his delight, even when some of those rather humorous circumstances involved his own blunders. It was nice to have someone to talk to, and to entertain. Even his more aggressive side was more content than it had ever been.

He had fed her when she was hungry, grabbing Bacon Soup. He wished there was more he could provide her with, but she seemed not to mine, even if the cans of food were extremely outdated. Not the heathiest of meals, but she hadn't gotten sick yet.

Now she was curled up in a ball on the floor, underneath a spare piece of cloth he had found. He watched her sleeping form for a minute and wished he could stay here with her, but he knew there was business to attend to. She would be asleep for a while, and he did not want to scare her again.

Now was the time to strike. Now was the time to bring to an end to that traitorous scum.

Even if he could not have the Angel or Drew…

His mouth twisted cruelly as he stepped through the wall and the pentagram drawn on the other side, exiting the sanctuary into an empty hallway…

…then he could at least have **_Henry._**

* * *

 **A/N: Welp, looks like Henry is screwed. Or is he...? }:^) (my lame attempt at a devil emoji)**

 **Guys, I can't thank you enough for the support and I'm so glad you're enjoying this story! You guys are the reason I keep going, no matter how steep the climb gets! Thank you all so much!**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: ~I am alive! Immortalized!~**

 **Guys, I am so sorry it took this long to update but I'm back baby! I'm going to try to update much more often, as I have a clearer idea of how this story is going to go. I'm pretty proud of how this chapter turned out, and I hope you guys enjoy it, too. Thanks so much-it's because of you guys that I keep going!**

Disclaimer: I do not own Bendy and the Ink Machine, only this story and my OC.

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7: Night Howls

It was difficult, but somehow Henry managed to find his way through the studio's first floor back to the front door. This place was like a maze—so many winding halls and sudden corners! He certainly didn't recall the studio being this big and confusing when he worked here thirty years ago. Then again, it was always possible for the building to have been under many renovations since his time there, but after encountering all these ink creatures, he wasn't so sure there was anything about the place that was remotely as it had been back then.

Back when the world was sane.

Although, Henry had to admit, Joey had had his own peculiarities, as one of his fellow co-workers had put it. Who had it been again?

Now Henry was racing towards the front door. Nothing was following him. He hadn't seen Bendy since their first meeting, and he felt that now would be his only chance to escape unnoticed. He reached out and grabbed the doorknob and turned.

"What the—?"

The door wouldn't budge.

"No." He pulled again. "No, nonono!"

Suddenly the area darkened, and inky lines roamed the walls and ceiling. There was a clotted chuckle from behind. Henry whirled around to find Bendy leering at him, blocking one way while the exit door barred him from escaping. It was official: He was going to die here.

 ** _"Did you really think it would be so easy to escape?"_** Bendy hissed, and Henry clenched his hands to keep his arms from trembling at the sound of the Ink Demon's voice. It was so grating, and malicious. He wished he knew what was going on. He wished he knew why everything down here wanted to kill him, and how they had even come to life at all!

Bendy's grin faltered, and Henry realized he had spoken out loud.

Then the Demon growled and took a step forward, and Henry instinctively took a step back, in spite of his back already being pressed against the door.

 ** _"How dare you pretend not to know what happened!"_** Bendy growled. His claws dug into the wall, and wood splintered and fell to the floor, which was now flooding with ink that swam up and past Henry's ankles. **_"You think that you can just wander in here and preTEND that you don't REMEMBER?"_**

It was so dark now—the frown was the only thing Henry could make out clearly; that damned frown. It would have been worse if it were smiling, he reflected bitterly. But what did it matter, now that he was inches away from—

 _CRACK._

 _Huh?_

Bendy looked as confused as he did, but only for the briefest of seconds, because suddenly he was zooming out of sight, and Henry was falling down a shaft, less than twenty feet long, and he fell on hands and knees. The impact jolted up his limbs, but he was mostly unharmed save for some bruises that would appear later and surely smart him. He stood, and looked up. The floor had given out from underneath him. He briefly wondered why it had chosen until then to give out, but he quickly forgot about that as Bendy suddenly appeared from above, the grin back and wider than ever. He looked especially pleased about something, and that only set off warning bells all over Henry's mind.

 _If he's pleased, then I am so screwed, aren't I?_

Henry turned away from the shaft and began hurrying through the ink—which now rose to his waist—as fast as he could. He found wheels which he learned could drain the ink when he turned them. And structurally that made no sense, to have a built-in drain in a staircase, but what the heck in this place was making sense?

Henry didn't dare turn around to see if the Ink Demon was pursuing him; if he had, he would have noticed that Bendy had fallen back, which would have raised all sorts of warning signs that maybe treading downwards was equally dangerous—if not more so—to running straight into the Demon with wide, open arms.

As it was, Henry was trekking downstairs as fast as he could, draining ink and marching stairs. Finally he reached the bottom, and he wondered just how deep he had travelled and how big this place was. Opening the only door presenting itself, he entered a room whose only other exit was blocked by boards nailed half-haphazardly into place.

Propped into place on the wall was an axe, gleaming and seeming to call out to him. Henry hesitantly took the axe and weighed it carefully in his hands. He hoped he wouldn't have to use it against anything other than boards—though he doubted he had seen the last of those ink monsters. With a weary sigh, Henry clenched his hands around the handle, turned to the boarded-up hallway, and began swinging.

…

Alice hummed to herself as her finger traced the wooden grains of the floorboard. In her other hand she held a recently opened can of soup, which she took sips from periodically. Bendy had been gone for a while now, she mused. She wondered where he could have gone, and why he was taking so long.

It was hard to grasp the concept of a friend, since she had never had one before. No one had ever cared about her, and so it had been almost unsettling when the inky cartoon had shown kindness towards her, and in a protective-like manner. He had even given her a bath without once complaining about having to deal with her "filth", as her mother had often done when she had bothered to give her baths (which was so long ago Alice couldn't even recall those moments).

More than once Alice used to wish that she could see; then her parents would care that she existed, and she could go outside and go to school, live a normal life. She could meet her grandparents and her parents' friends. She could watch those cartoons she'd heard so much of.

Yet if she hadn't been born defective, she wouldn't have met a living cartoon herself. Bendy would still be here, unaware of her presence, as she would his. And he would be all alone, and she figured that must have driven him crazy, being trapped in this studio without anyone to talk to. She supposed that was why she had felt an almost instant connection with the demon: both had been alone up to this point, alone and without friends.

In that moment, Alice decided that she would rather be blind and have him as a friend than with sight and without him— and him without her. She wouldn't be able to live with herself knowing that awful truth.

She began humming a small, aimless tune to herself, and took a small sip of bacon soup. In spite of it being severely outdated, it had done nothing to make her sick or otherwise harm her. Besides, it warmed her up and seemed to clear her mind almost instantly, and it tasted rather good. She was beginning to wonder if the soup were magical. After all, it was possible for cartoon characters to come to life in this place; the idea of magical soup didn't seem so far-fetched.

She froze mid-sip.

Was that a…? No, no one could get in here save for Bendy, he had told her himself. Yet why had she just distinctly hear a voice calling to her, sounding both far-off and nearby? Although it hadn't been exactly a voice—more like…a feeling. Yeah, that was it.

And likely it had just been her imagination, for who would be "calling" out to her, and how would they have—?

 _"Come…"_

The wall behind her suddenly seemed open, like it had disappeared or left in a draft of some sort. It made no sense, but it was there, she could feel it, and the voice was so compelling, but Bendy had told her to wait, but this other person needed her, and they said it was okay, she wouldn't be long, Bendy would never know she was gone…

…

Henry entered a room with a pentagram drawn onto the floor with candles scattered about. He was careful not to accidentally step into the pentagram and edged around it, aware of a slight trembling that shook the room but weakened the further away he got from the chalked circle. There were also coffins, and he shuddered to think of who might be in there. Actually, he decided not to think about that at all, not wanting to know what had happened down here to make all this horror possible, and desiring only to find any possible escape route there might be in this place. Although that would be difficult if he continued to travel deeper like this. But somehow he felt that the only way out would be to take what felt like the least likely route—going down instead of up.

 _Right,_ _that makes sense, Henry,_ he thought as he reaffirmed the grip on his axe, ready for any one of those ink monsters to pop up from the ground without warning. At least now he would have protection.

"Utility Shaft 9," he mused, looking up at the sign, and a board fell from above and broke in half when it crashed to the ground. Henry sighed miserably. "I really hate this," he muttered and begrudgingly headed down the stairs.

 _Nice artwork,_ he thought sarcastically as he examined a picture of Bendy pasted on the wall, with a cutout leaning beside it and candles and food offerings all around them both. Next to the picture of Bendy, words were scrawled on the wall: "HE WILL SET US FREE".

So there was probably some sort of cult down here now. Great. Just great. Just what he needed, more crazy people who would probably want to sacrifice him to Bendy, if the words on the wall were any indicator of what they worshipped. He briefly wondered if he watched too many horror movies before moving on. He also considered chopping the next Bendy cutout he came across in half, but decided that would probably not be the smartest idea.

He found a tape recorder like the one he had found upstairs of Wally Franks, and turned it on.

"He appears from the shadows to rain blessings upon me…"

 _S-Sammy?!_ It certainly sounded like his old co-worker, Sammy Lawrence, at least by voice. But he sounded so manic, like an all-too reverent priest preaching to a God. Henry listened to the rest of the recording with increasing dread, up until the final behest: "Can I get an amen?"

The recording clicked off, and Henry said, "God, Sammy." With a sinking heart he made to turn.

"I said: Can I get an amen?"

With a barely restrained gasp, he whirled around, but no one was there. Yet he had _heard_ Sammy speak, had practically felt his breath on his neck. But no one was there.

 _The sooner I get out of this place, the better._

He went down the corridor, past another Bendy tribute, then turned the corner…and silently groaned to himself. A hallway of ink stretched before him. Wary of something popping up from it to snag him, Henry tread carefully, each step creating a loud _slop_ as he struggled to wade through the shin-high ink.

Then he heard an eerie chant from the hall's other end, and he looked up from the ink he was keeping an eye on just in time to see an ink-covered man wearing some sort of mask and carrying a Bendy cutout walk down the adjoining hallway, chanting a chilling lullaby.

"Excuse me! Could you help me?" Henry called, going against his better judgement. The man appeared not to hear him and continued on his way, disappearing from sight, and Henry hurried after him as fast as he could. "Wait!" he yelled, emerging from the hallway and turning the corner where the man had gone.

The path ended abruptly in a wall with that Bendy cutout smiling mockingly at him. It leaned against a pentagram.

"Where the hell did he go?" Henry wondered, though he knew—even if it seemed impossible—that the man must have gone through the wall somehow. However that was possible. Henry turned away from the cutout (and the shelves of Bacon Soup, and he wondered why so many of them were down here, especially since they were way outdated), and travelled the opposite direction. "Oh great, more things to find," he stated upon sighting the lever and three turned-off buttons, indicating switches or buttons nearby. "Well, at least it's giving me a good workout," he added, trying to remain at least a little optimistic.

It took him far sooner to find the three switches, much to his relief. He returned to the lever and pulled it. The door shuddered and rose slowly upward. Henry tensed, but nothing leapt out at him. Another doorway was revealed, boarded-up; a light suddenly switched on from the other side and a moan could be heard.

"Hello?" Henry called, at first thinking it was the man from before. But then he thought, "Joey?"

There was no response, and he hadn't really expected one. With a bit of a sigh, he went forward and began chopping up boards.

"I remember this place," he realized, seeing the sign that proclaimed this to be the music department. Only the music department he remembered had been upstairs and nowhere near this large and confusing. He found another recording and played it, and to his immense relief it was Sammy Lawrence, but sounding like how he should: a grumpy, stubborn man who hated working on cartoons but someone whom Henry got along rather well with. He listened as Lawrence complained about ink flooding his workspace thanks to the newly-installed Ink Machine, and then it clicked off.

 _Seems like things got even worse when I left,_ Henry thought, and turned around. He saw a staircase leading to an exit door, and he went to it. He wasn't even surprised that it was flooded with ink, but hope elated him. If he could just find a way to drain the stairwell, he could get out of here. The power lever caught his eye, and he pulled it.

A click from behind, and he saw the lights in the music department switch on. With a hint of a smile, he strode out into the open with a bit of confidence returned to him…and immediately screamed and scrambled back as more of those ink monsters (which he decided to call Searchers, as they seemed to have no eyes) sprung out of the floor and attacked him.

"Stay back!" Henry yelled, brandishing his weapon. "I have an axe, and I'm not afraid to use it!"

He was startled when the Searchers actually halted and stared at him, tilting their heads, as though they had actually registered what he just said. The light glinted off the axe's blade, and the creatures eyed it carefully before letting out a collective moan and disappearing.

Henry stared. _I can't believe that actually worked._ Then he grinned, and made to do a victory flip with the axe, only for it to slip from his grasp, and become stuck in the wooden floor. He spent a minute or two struggling to remove it from the boards, and, after eventually succeeding, decided not to allow himself to become so cocky again.

…

Bendy watched through the cutouts as Henry stumbled his way through the music department. He frowned when the Searchers froze at the sight of his axe, but then laughed to himself when the man dropped it moments later.

 ** _'That's right. Don't get cocky yet, traitor. The only reason I'm not coming after you myself is because it would be too obvious. I have another who would be all too pleased to secure you for me. And then we can conduct our business together.'_**

At intervals, he found himself checking on Alice. He knew the little girl would be safe there, but after that close call with Henry he did not want to take chances of someone accidentally stumbling upon and discovering his hidden sanctuary. Especially that blasted Angel, or the Creator. Even though the ink was eating away at his brains, he was probably more dangerous when feverish than when he was in his right mind—which was saying something.

The girl was simply sitting there, having some Bacon Soup and awaiting his return. A gleeful feeling entered him. It was unusual for someone to actually be looking forward to his presence, when so many feared him upon sight. He liked it.

He returned to watching Henry as he went searching again. For Wally's keys, for a way out. Definitely he would not be successful when seeking the latter. The Musician would ensure that.

Bendy decided to mess with Henry a little by moving around his cutouts. He always enjoyed doing it before, able to manipulate them just by thinking about it; it was always fun to see one of the employees jump out of their skin when one of them appeared suddenly from behind while their back was turned. He was not disappointed by Henry's reaction, who grew increasingly frustrated as he traveled back and forth from the projector booth to the music room, as more and more cutouts appeared to taunt him.

Bendy laughed out loud in the ink, and those Searchers who sensed him immediately respawned elsewhere. He hadn't had a hoot and a holler like this in a _long_ time. He'd made the right decision by making the Traitor's torment last.

After a while, when Henry finally entered Sammy Lawrence's office to pull the switch that would drain the stairwell, and Bendy was assured that the former owner of that office would take care of the intruder and prepare him as an "offering". Not that Bendy was a pure demon, not in that sense, but in this case he wouldn't complain, even if the Musician's biblical chants did get on his nerves.

Bendy decided to check on the girl one last time after witnessing Henry get knocked out through a slam on the head. He would, after all, be much too busy dealing with the Traitor to check on her again until after he was dealt with.

He peered through the cutout propped against the wall parallel to her.

Any anticipation of his revenge on the man vanished instantly.

The girl was gone.

 ** _'That's impossible,'_** he told himself. **_'That's—'_**

With an unrestrained growl, he completely forgot about Henry and went dashing upstairs to his sanctuary, sure there must be something wrong with his cutout, that he must have not seen clearly, because she _had_ to still be there, it was impossible for her to have escaped.

Or to have been kidnapped, a possibility he was much more willing to believe.

…

Henry awoke to that ink creature with the Bendy mask looming over him. He gasped and tried to scramble backwards, only to realize he was bound to the chair, tied to it by rope. Looking down, he saw a pentagram drawn onto the floor.

 _Oh, no,_ he thought. _This is exactly what I wanted to avoid._

"There we go now, nice and tight," the creature said, startling him. "We wouldn't want our sheep roaming away now, would we? No, we wouldn't," he answered himself, not giving Henry any chance to speak—but giving him plenty of time to identify who that voice belonged to.

"Wait— _Sammy?_ " he realized, eyes widening incredulously.

The ink-covered man froze momentarily at the mention of his former name.

"Sammy…" he spoke finally, in a much softer tone, almost nostalgic, "…is a name I haven't heard…in a _long_ time. But I am far much more than the weak-minded man I used to be. Even if I am trapped in this inky, dark abyss I call a body." His voice became stronger as he went on, more prophetic and less like the grouchy man Henry used to call friend.

"Sammy, listen to me," he pleaded. "I don't know what's going on, or what has happened to you, but whatever this is you're planning, you don't have to do it. We can work together to find an exit out of here."

But to his amazement, Sammy Lawrence chuckled.

"You truly don't get it, eh, my little sheep?"

"It's me, Henry!" Henry finally yelled, fed up with Sammy's lack of recognition, and of being called "little sheep". "Don't you remember me? I'm you're old co-worker, Henry Mills!"

"Henry…Mills? Doesn't ring a bell."

Despair wracked him, but he refused to give up easily.

"I used to be one of the animators. I created—"

"Shh!" Sammy cut him off suddenly, pressing a hand to his mouth, effectively smothering Henry's attempts to speak through it. "Quiet! Listen….I can hear him, crawling above, crawling!"

Slowly, Henry allowed his eyes to travel up so that he could see the ceiling.

"…I don't hear anything. I think you must be delusional." At least, that was what Henry tried to say through the inky hand, but all that came out was "Mmmphmphhh."

For a moment Sammy's shoulders sagged, as though faintly disappointed. But he brightened just as quickly.

"It is no matter. Sooner or later my Lord will come to set us free, and when he does, I shall have an ample sacrifice waiting for him."

He patted Henry's cheek, almost affectionately, and then strode to a side door in the room. Henry called after him, but his words fell upon deaf ears. The door closed and locked, and Henry was left alone. He sighed to himself, occasionally glancing up at the ceiling. Then he said "Screw this" and, with furtive glances at the door, began quickly but quietly untying the ropes from behind his back. Sammy had done them tight, but not well, Henry observed with undisguised relief. It wasn't long before he had his wrists freed; then he proceeded to his legs. Once those were done, he stood up and grabbed his axe, which for some reason Sammy had left lying in the open for him—not that he was complaining.

Henry left the room through the only alternate exit: a hallway blocked off by boards. Unsurprised by the challenge, he met it without pause, chopping down wood almost as naturally as a lumberjack. Until the last board, when the blade of the axe fell off without warning, leaving him with only a useless stick of wood.

 _'Well, shoot,'_ he thought, but when he looked up, he realized it did not matter. There was an exit door right in front of him, on the other side of a pool of ink. It might be a trap, but at this point he was willing to risk it, as long as there was some slim hope that he might actually have a chance of escaping this place.

He took a step forward, but a small "Oof" from behind gave him pause.

Henry turned, and his eyes widened upon sighting a little girl, covered in a minimal amount of ink and wearing a freshly cleaned smock that could barely pass for a dress. She had long blonde hair and unseeing eyes that were focused on the floor ahead of her, which she was pushing herself off from.

 _'She's blind,'_ Henry realized. Then he wondered what the heck a child was doing here, and how she had managed to get inside in the first place without any sight.

Tentatively, he said, "Hey, little girl. Are you all right?"

She froze upon hearing his voice, but she did not look afraid. She turned her head in his direction, her eyes somewhere above his left shoulder, and she spoke softly. "Who are you?" she asked with her head tilted.

"I'm Henry, I work here. Or rather, did, until an old friend came to call. But that's not important right now. Who are you, and what are you doing here in the studio?"

"My mommy threw me out."

"Huh?" Henry blinked, sure he hadn't heard right.

"My mommy and daddy never liked me because I can't see, so they threw me out today, threw me here, on my sixth birthday."

"They…they did, huh?"

More vividly than he would have liked, Henry recalled a stern, older man's voice yelling to clean up your room, you useless faggot, clean it now or I'll whip your behind raw! And a smaller voice, high-pitched and frightened out of its wits, saying yes daddy, I'll clean it, even though it was nearly spotless for a five-year-old boy's room, but the older man hadn't cared, had he? Not one lick.

Henry shook himself from the disturbing memory (only one of many) and turned back to the girl.

"Well, don't worry. You won't ever have to see them again. You can be with better people. I can take you to them once we get out of here."

"But I don't want to leave," she said, so plainly that Henry did not doubt for a second what he had heard, and leaving him utterly befuddled.

"But this place isn't for children," he explained. "It's much too dangerous."

"Bendy's not."

A chill ran through him.

"Who?"

"Bendy. He's my friend."

Henry didn't know how to process this. Before he could even attempt to, there was a bubbling from behind him, and he turned just as a shower of ink rained upon him, flung off a figure with a glowing white smile now twisted into a grimace, behind which a growl began and rose in volume and intensity.

The little girl opened her mouth, as though she wanted to say something, but Henry had grabbed her and picked her up and was now running down the corridor, which had previously been blocked but was now mysteriously open of obstruction. But he didn't care about that now, he had to get them out of here before—

A screech from behind. Henry cursed silently and spurred his feet on faster. The thumps of the nearing, pissed off Demon growing louder.

"H-Henry," the girl stuttered through his jostled movements. "That's Bendy, what's—?"

"No time to explain, just hang on!" Henry said, and the girl shut her mouth, but she kept looking behind them with a look of mixed concern and confusion.

They soon reached a door and Henry dashed through it. As if of its own accord, the door closed and a bar slammed down over it. On the other side, Bendy pushed against it, and Henry put the girl down to barricade the door further with chairs and desks. The pounding persisted and, if anything, grew louder.

 ** _"HENRY! HENRY, OPEN THIS DOOR NOW! OPEN UP YOU ****! GIVE HER BACK!"_**

Henry, seeing the girl going instinctively towards the blocked door, pulled her back and drew farther into the room, heart pounding. The door wouldn't last long. There must be another way out of here.

And that was when a gloved hand fell upon his shoulder.

It was all Henry could do not to screech in surprise, but when he looked up, he saw not a monster, but a cartoon wolf wearing overalls and a frightened but determined expression. Pie cut eyes met dark blue ones, and Henry whispered, "Boris?"

The wolf nodded, and put a finger to his lips. He nodded to a door that only now entered Henry's line of sight as he passed a shelf of toys, and followed Boris.

Maybe it had something to do with being his creator. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that Boris was the only one who hadn't tried to kill him or sacrifice him upon sight. But Henry knew Boris the Wolf could be trusted, and followed him unhesitatingly.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the door, a tall mass of ink, engulfed with a rage that shook his already unstable form, bowed his head as he seethed silently. He'd took her. He took his one and only friend and now he would turn her against him. She would be like everyone else, treat him like everyone else did.

Then a slow grin crept across his face.

 ** _"Not if I get you back first, Alice. I won't let the Traitor manipulate your mind. You are mine, and always will be. And I'll be dAmnEd if he tries to take you away from he."_**

He trudged away from the door, leaving a trail of inky chuckles in his wake.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Things begin to heat up, a brief alliance forged, and not all is as it seems in these twisted corridors...**

Disclaimer: I do not own Bendy and the Ink Machine, only this story and my OC.

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8: An Angel's Call

"Where are we going?" Henry asked the wolf as they traversed the empty corridors, which immediately filled him with suspicion; it was too quiet here for his liking, but he trusted Boris, for some instinctive reason, and knew, somehow, that he would not lead them into a trap. Speaking of…

He looked down to the girl, whose eyes were trailed aimlessly ahead of her. She appeared to be in deep thought.

"Hey, are you okay?" Henry asked her gently. He had no experience with children, having been an only child and having none of his own (he had always been single), but he figured it wouldn't be too difficult with her.

She nodded her head. "I'm fine. I just don't understand why we ran away from Bendy. He's really nice, and he cleaned me up—see?"

At the mention of the demon, Boris froze and turned to look at the girl with big, frightful eyes. He glanced at Henry for an explanation, having already deduced that she was blind, but the man could only shrug. Boris continued forward uncertainly, but a pit of fear had opened up in him.

"What's your name?" Henry asked the girl.

"Alice."

"Oh, like Alice Angel."

"Nothin' like Ms. Angel," Boris spoke up suddenly in a deep drawl, causing both humans to startle. "Sorry," he apologized, "I usually don't speak much. But what I mean is, well, Bendy's not the only one who's become corrupted."

"Has everyone?" Henry asked. "All the employees?"

"All except you," Boris replied. "Then again, you left before we toons were even brought to life."

"That wasn't my fault," Henry said defensively.

"I know 'twasn't," Boris said calmly. "I am your creation, after all."

Henry didn't know what that meant, but decided to ask about it later.

They passed another Bendy cutout and a flimsy-looking wooden box with the words MIRACLE STATION inscribed onto it, with a halo insignia.

"This is it," Boris announced, gesturing towards a tough door, and unlocked and opened it, allowing Henry and Alice entry before following them himself.

Henry looked around the space, awed by how homely and bright it appeared compared to the rest of the studio. It almost felt he wasn't in the same place anymore, but an alternate reality; almost like he had jumped onto the page of one of the old skits, only with a more colorful and three-dimensional air.

"What is this place?" Henry asked, turning to Boris, who replied, "This is my sanctuary."

It made sense, now that he looked closer and saw what looked to be a mini kitchen complete with stove and fridge, and a small wooden dining table. He was willing to wager there would be at least one bed in one of the rooms leading off the hall to the right. It was pretty big, and cozy-looking.

"Does everyone here have a sanctuary?" Henry wondered aloud, thinking back to one of Sammy Lawrence's recordings and the door he had had to open to get to the pipes that would drain the ink from the staircase. Which proved to have been a fruitless journey, he thought, but then pushed the mental image of the ink-covered man from his mind. He wouldn't think about that now.

"Pretty much," Boris replied, crouching down to open a cabinet. "Alice, Joey, even the Butcher Gang's got one somewhere. I think. Hey, are you guys' hungry?" He straightened, holding a can of expired Bacon Soup in either gloved hand.

"Uh, is that stuff even safe for humans to consume?" Henry wondered, eyeing the cans suspiciously.

"Of course."

"…But it's expired."

"I've had some. It's really good," Alice piped up.

Henry looked down at the girl uncertainly, then back to Boris. "Well, if you two say so," he relented, and accepted the can of soup offered to him. Boris helped Alice with hers, and then got one for himself. He gestured for them all to sit at his table.

Henry glanced at the Bacon Soup in his hand for a long while, then thought, _To heck with it,_ and tipped it back. The contents were cold and slimy down his throat, but it didn't taste all bad. Henry supposed he shouldn't be so easily surprised by this place. He glugged the rest of the soup down, as his stomach just realized how hungry it was; it must have been hours since he'd eaten, and he wondered just how long he had been in the studio.

 _Can't have been long. Six hours, at most._

But he was beginning to wonder if time worked weird down here, too.

"So," he prompted once they had all finished their quick meal, and Boris leaned forward in his chair. Henry still couldn't believe it: His own creation, come to life in front of him; it was like a dream come true. Or rather, a fragment of a dream stuck in a nightmare.

"What happened here?" Henry asked. "How are you and the other guys alive? And how did things get so messed up?"

"First, I've got a question for you, Henry," Boris said, his usually jovial voice taking on a tone of absolute seriousness, which was completely out of his character.

"Sure," Henry said, and the wolf leaned in closer.

"Why did you come back?"

"Joey sent me a letter," the man explaining, withdrawing the yellowed paper from his pocket. He showed it to Boris, who frowned as he examined it.

"That's not possible," he said.

Henry's brow crinkled. "What?"

"Joey's not in the right state of mind, you could say, to send that letter."

"What d'you mean? Is he like Sammy?" Henry asked, hoping that Boris would say no, but knowing in his heart what the answer might be.

"Like I said, everyone down here's been corrupted. Employees and toons alike."

"I know," Henry sighed, the letter falling to the table in his limp grip. "I just thought, him being the run of the place…wait a second." He lifted his head again. "You're not corrupted. You're totally fine."

Boris began to rub his arm, looking uncomfortable. "I, uh." He stuttered and did not look at Henry, his eyes creased with fear.

"Boris? What's wrong?" Henry asked gently. "You don't have to tell me, but I'd like to know what happened to my creation." And he found this to be true. He'd made Boris, after all. In a way, he felt that whatever happened to the cartoon wolf was his responsibility.

Boris quickly glanced at the girl before returning his gaze to his arm. "Not in front of her," he muttered almost too quietly to hear, and Henry nodded in understanding.

"Hey, sweetie," he said, turning to Alice and assuming the best parental tone he had, in spite of never having been a parent before and having no idea of what he was doing. "Do you wanna get some rest? You only have to sleep for a little while, just a quick nap. You must be tired after all that walking."

"I guess I am a little sleepy," Alice admitted, just as a huge yawn left her mouth. Henry couldn't help but grin a little.

"Come on, I'll carry you to bed, if that's all right."

She nodded sleepily, and stretched out her arms to hold onto him.

Boris pointed his thumb to his left, saying, "There's a couple of hammocks and a mattress off the hall, to the left."

Henry nodded his thanks, then travelled down the hallway and turned the corner. He entered the room Boris had described and set Alice down on the bare mattress. There was a blanket curled up at its foot but no pillow. Alice didn't mind, though, and thanked him when he tucked her in.

"Mr. Henry?" she said.

"Yes, hon?"

"Thanks for being so nice to me."

"Of course," he replied, though her words broke his heart. "All you deserve is nice people and things in your life. Are you comfy?"

She nodded.

"All right. I'm going to talk to Boris, 'kay? You get some sleep."

"Thanks, Henry," she mumbled just before she fell asleep. Henry brushed some of the hair out of her face, then got up and left the room.

…

Meanwhile, an Alice of a quite different kind was surveying the ink-tipped needle she held at arm's length from her body. The freshly mutilated corpse of a cartoon wolf splayed on display before her, head hanging dollishly to one side. She looked down at herself in disgust.

No, this would never do, she fumed. The process was simply taking too slow; she still looked too much like _him,_ that inky filth. She needed that Boris; just one more, and she would be complete. If only the process weren't so messy, she fretted, but soon she would be perfect, and would not have to dirty her hands ever again.

If only it hadn't escaped into its sanctuary. She crossed her arms and scowled. She would have to lure the Boris out somehow, or otherwise wait for it to leave the place. Having no idea how to lure it out, she settled on the latter option, impatient but determined to see it through to the end. She would regain her beauty, her pure form, and no one and nothing would stand in her way.

"Not even you, Devil Darlin'~", she purred later as she smashed some cutouts and ran into the nearest Miracle Station to hide, watching the Ink Demon rage for the pure glee of it, as she often did. She had only gone out to get more ink and gears, but angering him was a treat she couldn't pass up.

But something about him was different this time. His rage was more sullen. He did not emerge from his portal in the wall yelling threats and smashing things in his path; instead he trudge along slowly, smiling but glaring at every cutout smashed. He paused directly in front of the Miracle Station, and for the first time in a while the Angel felt a thrill of fear. He couldn't actually _see_ her, could he? No, impossible. The Stations were of her own creation, designed specifically as places to hide in plain sight from the Demon, but without him ever knowing where she went; it was like the Stations entered her into another plane of existence entirely, or made her incorporeal, beyond his sense.

Now, however, he stood, and slowly his head turned in her direction. She gulped as her one eye watched his leer grow, and he trudged forward. Alice Angel stayed absolutely frozen, feeling the instinctive urge to back up but afraid to make a sound.

He reached the slot and pressed up close. The beat of his heart filled her eardrums, but she looked up at him through the slot with what she hoped was an impassive expression. She never betrayed her fear, even when alone—or out of sight.

An inky, clawed hand reached out and traced the door, and for a moment, Alice thought she was caught. But the Angel breathed a sigh of relief as the Demon growled in his throat and turned away, obviously frustrated. Then, quite suddenly, he began to laugh; it was a warped, manic sound.

 ** _"Alice, when I get my hands on you….Oh, I can't wait for that day. The feel of your throat as it crinkles in my grasp, the sight of your ink disassembling, congealing on the floor as I tear into you….Hehehahaha!"_** he giggled.

Alice didn't know what to think; he had never spoken like this before. Even in this form, even when enraged, there had always been that trace of Bendy the Dancing Demon, no matter how faint.

Now she could sense nothing of the toon left. She wondered if their new arrival had anything to do with this sudden change in attitude.

She looked back up through the slot…and nearly jumped when she saw him glancing back at her, grin wider than ever.

 ** _"I know you're there, Alice,"_** he purred, his whisper carrying as easily as if he'd been speaking in normal tones. **_"You're there, right there—"_** he pointed right at her **_"—just out of my reach. You can't hide there forever. I'm going to make sure that today is the day you die."_**

And with that unsettling proclamation he leaned back against the fence and continued to stare in her direction, his gaze never moving, and his expression unchanging.

Alice's fingers twitched with longing, but she knew she stood no chance, even with an axe in hand. _Nothing_ worked on him, damn him! She cursed herself for being a fool by pushing her luck, but how was she to know that he would behave differently today? Smarter and calmer—and angrier—than usual?

Some time passed as the two of them studied each other (although one could not actually see the other).

Finally: "I can get you the girl."

 ** _"…What?"_**

His grin had faltered, if only for an instant, and Alice Angel smirked to herself. Just a few more intricately placed words, and she'd have him ensnared in her web. In spite of her lack of strength, she was a quick thinker, and she wondered if her luck hadn't run out in this situation after all.

"I've seen her with that man—Henry, right? You're not the only one with eyes all over this place, you know."

Bendy straightened—now she could see some of the old him again, and this much relieved her, for this meant her plan was working.

 ** _"I know that,"_** Bendy snarled impatiently. **_"What about the girl?"_** His fingers curled into fists, slightly trembling, and this time she laughed.

"Listen to me," the Angel cooed, "and I will bring you what you desire…in exchange for one eensy-weensy little favor."

 ** _"Right, as if I would ever make a deal with you, Angel,"_** he spat.

"Oh, come now, Bendy. You know you will need help. I can distract the others. Bring me some of your ink and gears from the Machine and I will make it so you can snatch her back before the others can react."

There was silence as he seriously considered her offer. It was a good one, and in spite of their mutual hatred for one another, she knew he would take it; he held his own cards, but the ones she was dealing were too delicious to pass up.

 ** _"Come on out,"_** he said at last, **_"and I will trust your word."_**

Alice Angel knew better than to just come out into the open; she could tell by his tone of voice—he would attack.

"Show me your own display of trust, and I will come out," she replied.

Bendy thought for a moment. Then he held out a gloved hand, giving an air of intense concentration, and she could feel the ink—the cursed filthy muck!—moving through the studio, towards her own sanctuary, stopping just beyond the two metal doors marking the entrance, as it could travel no further. She wished she weren't connected to it so much that she could sense its movements throughout the building, but at least this time it gave her assurance that the Demon kept his word.

 ** _"There are your supplies, waiting for you at home,"_** he said carelessly, lacing some sardonicism in the word "home", but Alice did not care; she knew he wasn't lying, and a feverish excitement filled her. She would still have to go after Boris, to obtain his still-beating heart from the crevice of his open chest, but everything else she now possessed; no more shopping.

No more cracked mirrors.

"Very well. I'm coming out," she announced, and opened the door to step out into the open. The air was tense, but all Bendy did was push off of the fence and saunter over to her.

He towered over her, but she did not flinch as she said in her sultry voice, "So do we have a deal?"

 ** _"Never deal with a demon,"_** he growled, but in a slightly teasing manner that let her know he was in. She grinned.

"No safer is it to deal with an angel," she replied.

And with that the two went somewhere private where they could conduct business together.


End file.
